


Hunger Pains

by AlissaShawWrites



Category: Spider-Man (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Enemies to Friends, Hurt Peter Parker, M/M, Malnutrition, Precious Peter Parker, Starvation, Sugar Baby Peter Parker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-19
Updated: 2019-11-19
Packaged: 2021-02-13 02:13:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21486631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlissaShawWrites/pseuds/AlissaShawWrites
Summary: Peter is starving. Literally. He can't remember his last meal. So when he happens upon an enemy who happens to take notice, he lets his guard down.In other words; my take on how Peter knows Tombstone can cook in Spider-man ps4
Relationships: L. Thompson Lincoln/Peter Parker
Comments: 11
Kudos: 179





	Hunger Pains

**Author's Note:**

> This is dumb and I won't apologize.

Peter was starving. Trying to ignore the painful growl of his stomach while doing most things was already a chore, so when he happened upon a call to a disturbance in a warehouse and found himself fighting Tombstone once more; he could do little more than grumble and grit his teeth. Any fighting was unwelcomed at that moment but one against a giant indestructible drug lord; well, that was too much. 

He tried to put his all into his movements but he was too weak; not that Tombstone could feel it anyway. He just had to tire him out. Keep going. Keep fighting until it's too much for Tombstone. Just keep going. 

"You look tired, bug. You need a break?" 

Peter gasped for air. "Only if you do." 

"I ain't that tired yet. But by the look of ya' you are." 

"Five minutes," he stated bluntly. "Just need five minutes."

They were standing across the room from each other. Both so close to the opposing walls that if an attack came, he would have time to respond so he took the silent moment to gain his breath back. 

"Yeah, let's take a break," he grinned, baring his razor-sharp teeth. "I was making ribs before you showed up and they'll dry out if I don't get them soon." 

Peter's attention perked up. "You were making ribs?" 

"That's what I said ain't it?" 

He left the room and Peter found himself following the giant from one room to another. Eventually, a sweet but savoury smell hit his nose and he felt his legs almost give out underneath him. 

He saw the side glances that Tombstone was shooting him as if he didn’t believe what was happening. To be fair, neither did Peter. He knew he should be fighting Tombstone and not following him into an undisclosed location that very easily could be a trap but the smell kept in moving forward. 

“Smells good. Really good actually. You made them?”

They entered the small kitchen, breakroom hybrid that used to be for employees when the building had been open. There was one single item on the dingy countertop. A slow cooker.

When Tombstone opened it, he laughed over his shoulder at Peter’s reaction. “You hungry or something?”

“No,” he lied; only to be betrayed by a rumble in his stomach.

The other man laughed. “Sounds like you are. Have some.”

He stopped dead. The eyes of the suit widening in a way that mimicked his actual expression. “You’re offering me; your enemy, the man who has put you in jail more times than you can count, and you presumably hate, some of your home-cooked meal?”

Tombstone shrugged, “fine, don’t have any then.”

“No!” Peter jumped up like a child. 

He laughed once more. “Yeah, I thought so.”

He took his time getting the plates together; probably revelling in the fact that his enemy was practically begging him to hurry up. “Here.”

Peter knew he shouldn’t eat it but as soon as the plate was in his hands, he didn’t care. He almost threw off his mask; catching himself before it rose too high and revealed his face. He dug into the ribs with reckless abandon regardless of his situation and felt instantly relieved. “Oh my god, this is so good,” he choked out between bites. 

“Take it easy there, bug. What the hell is wrong with you? You look like you haven’t eaten in days.” 

“Haven’t.”

Tombstone seemed taken aback. “The hell do you mean?”

“Haven’t eaten.” He had already cleaned three bones of every bit of meat and sauce and was now openly staring at the untouched ones in Tombstones’ hand. 

“Why?” He gave them over to Peter who immediately began scarfing them down.

“Mind your business.”

“It’s my business now that you’ve eaten half my dinner.”

“Crap,” Peter said, finally coming down from his high as a new set of abdomen pains seemed to take over his body. “S-sorry.” He gripped his stomach tightly.

“Just tell me what you mean. Why haven’t you eaten?”

Peter needed to get off his feet so he jumped onto the counter and rested his back against the wall. “You want the truth, Lonnie?”

“What’s the point in askin’ if I don’t want an answer?”

“Fair point. Fine, if you must know,” he sighed. “I-I can’t afford it. Superheroing doesn’t pay many bills. Doesn’t pay any actually. I got a job; a real job, but it doesn’t pay well either. I’m not leaving though. It’ll save lives someday. Not yet, but one day.”

“If it pays, why don’t you buy food with it?”

“It barely pays rent and sometimes it’s rent or food, not both. More often than not, it’s one.” Peter absentmindedly grabbed another a hunk of ribs out of the slow cooker and cleaned them as well.

An uncomfortable silence fell over the tiny room until Tombstone took out his wallet. “What are you doing?” Peter questioned. 

Tombstone didn’t reply; even after he took out a wad of cash; barely held together by a rubber band, and threw it to the hero.

He stared at it for a long time before finally muttering, “I’m not taking this Lonnie.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not. I can’t take money from you. I can’t take money earned from crime. I don’t even like taking money from people I trust; no offence.” 

“None taken. But you're takin’ it anyway.” 

"I'm not taking money from you. Why would you even give me money in the first place?" 

Tombstone shrugged. "Why does anyone do anything? Because, why the hell not?" 

"I'm not going to die, Lonnie. If I haven't yet, even with my enhanced metabolism really beating me down, I won't." 

The look on Tombstones’ face was that of confusion. "Say that again but with an actual explanation attached." 

"My superpowers. Lot's of things are higher than the average human, strength, durability, healing, and metabolism. Part of that means I need more food than average humans in order to function. Well, I don't often get that much. Not even close actually." 

"You're a fucking idiot." 

He shrugged, "yeah maybe." 

"Don't you get free things from the people you save?" 

"Lots of people try to give me things. Usually money but I don't like taking it. I do this to save people, not get rich. But sometimes they're nice enough to give me a snack. I got a churro once from a nice old lady, and a hotdog from a hotdog vendor whose cart rolled into traffic and I stopped it." 

Tombstones’ expression changed drastically to something of a knowing look. As if he had come to some conclusion to a problem in his head. "You're a fucking idiot," he repeated. 

“Got that, thanks.”

“You have to start taking care of yourself first. You say you wanna help people, but you’re no good to anyone if you’re dead or too weak to help them anyway.”

Peter rubbed the back of his neck submissively. “You might be right. That doesn’t change my mind though. I’m not taking your money.”

Tombstone stood and walked over to where Peter was still sitting on the countertop; towering over him and giving him no way out. “You will.” He pushed the stack of cash into his chest. “Consider this a threat. Until next time, bug.”

He let out a dry chuckle as he walked out of the room and out the nearest exit.


End file.
